Good Things Come
by kickingtenshi
Summary: Previously known as CHASER, previously an AMIZOI story. 6 years ago, she couldn't handle his deceit and left. Now he's come stumbling into her life again to ask for a favor or two that could land them both 6 feet under.
1. Chapter 1

So before anyone bites my head off for copying or reusing a story, I'd like to make it VERY clear that this chapter was previously published as an AMIZOI story under the name, Chaser. Upon rereading it, I realized that it didn't sound like Ami, and the lover didn't sound like Zoicite. Rather, MAKONEPH seemed to fit better... so THIS happened.

Chapter 1

Love between two people is something indescribable. It's something that will be remembered as a sweet memory or lived out as a happily ever after. But love alone will never keep two people together. A couple needs to also have a lot of luck, perseverance, strength, and most importantly – after love, of course – trust.

Looking back, I think… I feel… I _know_ we had enough love to last us for a while, we were lucky enough to be together easily, we were both strong enough to push through and stubborn as mules, but we didn't have enough trust between us. I would never be able to lay myself out there and believe in him completely, and he would never let me.

And it eats at my heart. Unlike most intelligent people, I turned a blind eye. It was later that I realized that even if I pretended that he was here in my arms instead of being out there in someone else's, didn't make it unreal. In fact, I felt like a bona fide coward – like an ostrich who thought sticking its head in a hole would make the danger disappear.

I knew I was being a coward. I knew I was being stupid. I knew I'd have to end this before I started to really hate him. Before I started blaming him for everything, knowing fully that I should've walked away a long time ago. I know that one day he would find someone to commit to, seeing as he isn't that stupid a fool to believe that he can continue playing Casa Nova. But I can't wait any longer.

It really hurts. It's not a stabbing pain that's fast and unexpected. It's more like a little caterpillar, chewing away at me. An expected feeling of fear and pain - one that seems like it won't end. This is my pain. This is my burden. And I want to shed it.

I slowly scrawled over a loose sheet of paper, not really reading what I wrote, not really seeing what I wrote. A sudden droplet of water plummeted onto the page, marring the tidy letters.

Crumple it up.

Starting anew, I paused, unsure if it was too late to stop and unpack my bags and crawl back to him again. The small dot I paused on became bigger as more ink flowed out of the felt pen. The dot glared accusingly at me, as if threatening me.

Crumple it up.

I took out another spotless white paper and began to write again. Halfway through I felt my nose burn slightly as fresh tears began to pool into my eyes. I couldn't help it as my fingers began to quaver. I snarled furiously (and uncharacteristically) as an almost invisible quiver in the 'l' appeared.

Crumple it up.

I stared at the clock; he was supposed to come back from work in 3 hours. Ha, if he wasn't running around with his secretary. Okay, so I was sort of really bitter. Tears began to fall onto the paper before my pen did. I scowled and scrunched up my paper.

This is Useless.

I looked over to his computer and began to type.

_Dear Nick,_

_These past 4 year with you have been unforgettable. Being with you has been interesting. You've always made me feel like I was the only woman in your life. With you, I've always felt special, confident, free, and above all, like an actual woman. And thanks to you, I've learned to spread my proverbial wings and become a confident and independent individual, which is why it's time for me to leave you._

_The biggest problem we face is trust. Or at least my biggest problem with you is trust. I guess you already know that when we used to be_just _friends, before this mess, I was the strong and tough girl, stronger than most boys that no one could truly see as a girl and you were the school's Casanova and resident Prince Charming. I used to think you were a rotten jerk who went through girls like you would go through tissue paper when you're sick. We became best friends through a series of mishaps and catastrophes. I was always silently jealous of every girl that walked through your bedroom and came back a couple of hours later. And somehow, we miraculously ended up together._

_What happened after that – well, I'm pretty sure you know what you were doing. Perhaps you didn't know I knew what you were doing secretly. All right, so I do know you don't know I know about what you've been up to. But I knew, so that's the point. I know quite a lot about it. About the clubs, the booze, the smoking, and the women. You weren't really good at hiding it either, what with the grumpiness, headaches, putrid breath, heavy bags, bloodshot eyes, and always blowing up at me in the morning. Not to mention how we would only spend time together from the late afternoon to early evening._

_Not to mention the random panties lying under the bed and the CONDOM wrappers in the trash can._

_I guess we're at different levels in terms of relationships. I want a steady, safe relationship whereas you aren't really looking for anything serious yet._

_But I honestly can't wait until you're ready. So I've already packed my belongings and by the time you get back, I'll probably be at a new apartment, closer to the bakery. I'm really sorry to end it this way. Maybe after some time we can go back and start over as friends again, after this muddle of a relationship becomes a very, very, VERY distant memory. I'll always remember our good times together, and the rare moments where we almost forgot who we were, where we were, what we were, and were just two people in love._

_Sincerely,_

_Makoto_

I guess it seems a bit impersonal to break up through a letter – a typed letter at that. But I COULDN'T handle it any more.

With my letter printed and set on the shoe cabinet, and my belongings already packed neatly into my car, I readied to leave before staring at the house. What could I do to leave us on good terms?

I sighed; it would have to be fast. As much as I wanted to stay long enough for him to come back and beg me, tell me, mention to me to not leave, so I wouldn't have to let go of him, I still wanted to leave. Leave this place where we made so many memories, where we spent so much time together. But also where I found proof of his betrayals. Where he would wake up groggy and tired and hung over.

I quickly grabbed some post-it notes and began to stick them onto different objects, my face dry of tears.

Don't get me wrong, I'm still upset and uncomfortable in this apartment, it's just that I don't have any more tears to cry. My hands trembled and I felt – I felt worn out, tired, drained, fatigued, drowsy.

I don't really remember what happened clearly after that, I guess I called the girls over to help me. I remember hoping that perhaps a scene similar the movies and dramas would take place. That when those shiny metal elevator doors slowly roll open to reveal him, with his long brown curls waving around his head like a glorious halo and his not quite brown, not quite blue eyes glazed over in regret . He would grab me and hold me tightly and swear that I was the queen of his heart, or something cheesy like that, and that he would never dare even glimpse at another woman, man, dog, anything.

Of course, that didn't happen. Instead of my handsome Casanova boyfriend, a shriveled old lady with a small bag of tomatoes hobbled out. She hoisted her bags up precariously. I guess I probably helped her get them to her door. She probably noticed the mess I was in, and offered me a tomato.

I think after that, all I really remembered was sitting in my own forest green all-wheel drive with Minako, the road devil, in the driver's seat and trying, but failing to smile at my friends who were fussing over me and cursing Nick's existence.

I knew then that it would take a while for me to ever be able to smile properly. I had just cut part of myself away.

And then I shook myself. He was cancer to me. I would've died if I didn't cut him out by the time I did. I might be sick now, but sometime in the future, I would be able to smile again like I used to.

* * *

><p>END... FOR NOW<p>

* * *

><p>SO… I'm BACK~! (Not that anyone would remember me) But uh… yeah. I don't even remember writing this to be honest. ^^;; I just wrote a one-shot for Ami and Zoicite called 'Love the One You're With' and decided to look at the projects that I started (but never bothered with after the first chapter…) and stumbled across Chaser. It just so happens that Chaser fits in really well with a project that I've really wanted to do for a while. It's just that the plot will be taking a major turn and the pairing has completely changed to Makoto and Nephrite, because I feel like they fit this kind of story more… Nephrite's better known as the flirt compared to Zoicite, and I'd imagine that Makoto's voice fits better with the writing style of this piece.<p>

But holy crap, first person point of view is a sinkhole for verb tense disagreement. And it probably won't work with the direction I'm taking with this story. I'll probably avoid first person for the most part.

You may notice that Chaser is no longer Chaser. It may not even stay as Good Things Come, depending on whether or not I can think of some catchy names to match it. :\

Um... also, if you're one of the 13 (or less) reviewers of Chaser, uh... HOLLA! :D


	2. Chapter 2

So, I wanted to get a second chapter out as a kind of apology to the previous readers (like 13 of them who read the first chapter when it was an AmiZoi story and were gracious enough to pass on an encouraging word and constructive advice) because I bailed for… a long time. I don't know if you guys are still out there, but uh… Sorry. TT_TT

A lot of them were interested in the male's point of view and I realized I was too. So Neph threw a big hissy fit…^^

And as I'm not a man (wow, no really?), I couldn't find a way to write as Neph without making him sound like a priss. I should warn you though, in trying to make the male/male interactions believable, THERE IS A LOT OF SWEARING IN THIS CHAPTER. Because, obviously, guys… swear nonstop when they talk to each other… .

Chapter 2

Maxfield Nicholas Stanton, better known by his friends as Nick, emerged from a public washroom, dressed to the nines in a crisp dress shirt, expensive slacks, a pair of custom Burberry sunglasses, and a slightly bulging suit case. He wiped the sweat from his forehead, exhausted from the last random hijinks he had gotten himself into due to his job. It was tough being Maxfield Nicholas Stanton, businessman, socialite, billionaire.

He entered the expensive high rise apartment, reaching the elevators just as Mrs. Baker, the elderly widow who lived on his floor, entered the elevator with her organic groceries that she used to insist resulted in her longevity, and met his eye with a stern glare. She hurriedly pressed the buttons in the elevator, no doubt the 'close' button was one of them, and continued to glower at him until the doors slid shut, as if daring him to enter.

Not that he would. A two minute elevator ride with the wizened woman who knew far too much for him to comfortably look her in the eye without shame was something Nick would avoid at all costs. He groaned inwardly, he dealt with so much crap on a daily basis at work, he did NOT want to deal with it in his very own home – even though his work often followed him back here.

He waited for the next elevator impatiently, the pain in his head increasing with every second. Maybe he could call Makoto, his university sweet heart and current official lover, in the afternoon to spend a few hours in normality – something he sorely missed. Makoto's cheery smile that lit up her entire face entered his mind. He couldn't keep back the wave of guilt that engulfed him. His occupation made it difficult for him to keep a steady relationship but he couldn't let her go.

Entering the elevator, he stared at his reflection in the mirror, lost in his thoughts. He knew he was being selfish, having his cake and eating it too. Not willing to give up a thing, even when it meant hurting the one person who cared for him more than his own parents ever had. And he'd returned the favor by gambling, doing drugs, and sleeping around. He stared at the seemingly heartless man who stared passively back, dark sunglasses obscuring his eyes.

He knew he had to let her go. He knew he had to cut her loose before she found out. Before he broke her. But he couldn't let go – he couldn't seem to let her go. And he couldn't seem to stop hurting her. He knew when he blew up at her that one morning when she had surprised him with a visit and he hadn't gotten rid of the evidence of his latest escapades that he needed to release her. He should've done it then, let her hate him. Let her detest him for the rotten person that he was pretending to be, for the asshole that he was becoming.

Instead, he held on to her like the selfish, spoilt prince he was.

Stepping off the elevator, onto his floor, he flashed his keycard against the door and pushed through. Aches throughout his body geared him towards the bed. His body was so tired. So tired. But his mind was raging.

Makoto. Makoto. Makoto. Makoto. I need to let go of Makoto. I want to hold onto Makoto. I won't let anyone else have Makoto.

He reached into the third drawer, Makoto's drawer where she left random articles of clothing when she came over to hang out, just the two of them. Every time he couldn't sleep or just needed to calm down and relax, he would go to Makoto's drawer, grab a sweater or t-shirt, lie down on his bed, and just breathe.

Creepy, yes he knew. But that was what Makoto did to him when he was high strung. Though to be honest, he was a man, and at times she did the opposite as well and set him ablaze.

His hand reached the bottom of the drawer. Confused and now fully alert, he reached around wildly, only feeling the wide, wooden expanse of emptiness before him. He yanked the drawer open and saw exactly what he had never imagined before in Makoto's drawer.

Emptiness.

Wrenching his gaze from the empty drawer, he stood up and ran to the kitchen with clumsy and stumbling steps, completely unlike his typical long and graceful gazelle-like gate. Her cooking utensils, her baking sheets, her frilly apron that he had bought her a year ago.

They were all gone. He looked around wildly, pulling apart shelves trying to find a trace of her. It was then he noticed a bright pink post-it on his state-of-the-art refrigerator.

_Don't forget to eat breakfast… ACTUAL breakfast, not just coffee!_

He drew in a breath of relief. She wasn't angry, so she couldn't be leaving him. He stared at the wreck he made in the kitchen, grimacing at the lecture she would give him about how a clean kitchen was necessary to make clean food.

But why couldn't he find a single one of her belongings in his apartment? He glanced through the drawers and cupboards again, this time finding a jar of cinnamon sticks.

Not his. Not his; she must've taken her clothing to wash. And she must've needed her cooking utensils for some big banquet thing she was preparing with her friends. He knew how much she loved cooking for large groups.

But he couldn't bring himself to fully believe his own concocted explanation. Fearfully, he looked around his apartment, finding dozens of post-it notes scattered on different objects.

On his underwear drawer, _Change your underwear every day! And remember to wash! That way you don't have to go commando on laundry days!_

On his laundry basket,_ At least try to do your laundry every 2 weeks, instead of every two months!_

On his trashcan, _Are you SURE whatever you want to throw away belongs here?_

On his flat-screen, _I still think this is penis compensation._

On his strewn sneakers, _I know in America, they wear shoes wherever, but in Crystallis, we take them off!_

On his shoe cabinet, _Dear Nick…_

Nick froze, that wasn't a post-it – that was a full-blown letter, fully typed, fully signed.

With quavering hands, he grabbed it, reaching his expensive leather couch and collapsing by the time he reached the meaning of the letter.

She was leaving him.

She was leaving him.

She was leaving him.

She was BLOODY LEAVING HIM.

Scrunching up the letter, he tossed it across the room. It sailed harmlessly onto the floor. Unsatisfied he grasped the empty glass vase where he used to put fresh flowers in when she visited and chucked it to the floor. Predictably, it shattered upon impact.

She left him.

She left him.

She left him.

She left him.

He raged around his apartment, tossing things and ripping things, as if his display of raw manliness and violence would negate the tears that ran down his face. He cried out loudly.

He reached for his liquor cabinets, finding only near empty bottles. He had long ago drained them in an effort to drown his own demons with spirits. He grabbed onto the bottles and slammed them against the counters, against the refrigerator, onto the floor. They broke into large pieces, not at all satisfactory to him.

Angrily he waded through the broken glass, and scattered objects on the floor. Liquor. He needed liquor. He needed to forget everything. Reaching his bed he noticed his phone lying on the table through his red haze.

Makoto. Makoto. Makoto.

He would call her. He would get her back. Almost in hysterics, he grabbed his phone and dialed her number by heart.

"The number you have dialed is not…" an automatic female voice sounded.

"BITCH!" He yelled into the phone at the monotonous voice. He redialed 12 more times as he paced in front of his floor-length windows before losing what little composure he had left and hurled his state-of-the-art cellphone against the windows. The phone, of course, broke into two large chunks. Unsatisfied, he stomped them into the ground as viciously as he could.

She left him. She left him. She left him.

ALCOHOL. He needed ALCOHOL.

He grabbed his coat and his keys and launched himself out the door into the hallway. In his peripheral vision he could see that wrinkled hag shaking her head at him from the crack of her door. He pushed roughly past two hulking apes in blue security uniforms, apes; had he not been so angry, that he fondly called by first name.

"Stanton!" Tweedle Dum called out, confused at the typically calm residents obviously foul mood.

Nick ignored him and pressed the button vigorously. He waited all of 3 seconds before slamming open the emergency escape doors and rushing down the stairs.

Before the door to the staircase closed, he could distinctly hear the hag's voice grate against his skull,

"Serves him right! She was such a sweet girl too…"

* * *

><p>"'Scuse me sir, don't you think that's enough alcohol for the night?" an easy going voice, like velvet over steel, sounded, shaking Nick out of his drunken stupor.<p>

"No, it's not enough." He lifted his shot, ready to gulp it down.

She left him.

"Whoops!" The blonde with the affable attitude swatted the glass out of his hand.

SHE LEFT HIM.

He roughly grabbed the blonde's collar, easily half a head taller than the other man.

"Don't _fucking_ mess with me, asshole." He ground out, his knuckles turning white.

The blonde met his fiery glare with cool blue eyes. He grasped Nick's collar in return.

"It was an accident, _sir._" He said in a kindly tone, though his gaze was very clear_, pull your shit together, Stanton_, "If you don't mind, why don't I buy you another, in the VIP room?"

He let go and slapped Nick's offending hand away from his collar. Nick, not buying the bait, slurred drunkenly at the burly bartender for another shot,

The blonde man's smile seemed to set cruelly onto his cherub face. He turned towards Nick and tapped the larger man on the shoulder,

"Leave me the FU-"

The blonde man's fist met Nick's cheek squarely.

He turned and quickly disappeared behind the velvet curtains.

* * *

><p>"WHAT THE FUCK, FUJIMOTO?" The brunette giant came tumbling in, punching the wall as he spotted the blonde asshole in question.<p>

Lounging against the couch, the angelic blonde stared at him coldly, "You're piss drunk. What the hell went wrong this time?"

Across from him, two more blond men sat and stared up at him expectantly. One was young, lithe, with strawberry blonde hair that curled wildly down his back. The other was burly, tanned, with hair so blonde, it was white.

The strawberry blonde's eyes widened and he couldn't help but blurt out, "Wow, you're completely shit-faced."

Nick glowered menacingly and made a move to hit the youngest when he was deflected by the ice blonde beside him.

"Don't take your shit out on Zach. What the HELL is wrong for you to get so frigging drunk?" the ice blonde, Kenneth Stone, said evenly.

Nick met his leader's eyes before breaking down.

"She left me. She fucking left me."

His body sagged, and Kenneth's grip loosened. James Fujimoto let out a long sigh and looked upwards to the ceiling before leaving the lounge, likely to go fetch some alcohol and, judging by Nick's already skunk drunk state, a bucket. Zacharias Greene, ever the smartest of the bunch, stood up and left quickly, citing James' stupidity as a reason for supervision.

Kenneth released Nick's shirt and sighed, plopping onto the couch. Nick remained standing.

"You asswipe." Kenneth scowled, "You know I can't handle all of this emotional crap. Why do you think I redirect all of that shit to you?"

Nick stared without seeing anything, "All of her stuff is gone. Her clothes, her knives, not even a frigging chopstick left."

He sunk onto his haunches and covered his face with his mammoth hands, "I can't even call her–", Nick glanced up.

He stood suddenly, "The brat must have his phone on him! I should call her now!" Nick spotted Zach's expensive phone lying conveniently on the table and grabbed it.

Kenneth chucked a pillow at him, "I warned you. At the very beginning, I warned you. What did I tell you? Didn't I tell you it wouldn't work?"

Nick let out an angry yell, "I was going to let her go, I was going to, I swear. But not like this. Not now."

"I know you. Not now means not ever. Does she know what you do? Does she know what you've done?" Kenneth replied coldly.

Nick sunk again to his knees, staring at Zach's phone. Did she? He had only scanned the letter, too filled with pain disguised as rage to fully understand what she wrote.

"You knew you had to make this decision. Her or this job. And by taking on this long ass job that you did, you obviously picked the job. Now stick with it." Kenneth continued in his no-bullshit voice.

He glanced at his crumpled partner, and softened slightly, about as much as a hardened crook like Kenneth was paid to be could.

"You know you had to let her go. And you know why too. Right now, doing what you do, being what you are, you'll only hurt her. You know that. So it's your call. You either love your sorry ass more than hers and you keep chasing her and promising her empty crap or you care enough for her to want her to be happy and let her go while you can. Because I know you, Nick. If she comes back, you won't let her go."

Nick stared down at Zach's phone. He squeezed his eyes shut painfully.

And promptly hurled the phone against the opposite wall, where it created a gratifying crack.

"MY PHONE!"

* * *

><p>END... FOR NOW<p>

* * *

><p>Just a little humor at the end to lighten the mood ^^...Phew. That was surprisingly easy to do. It all kind of came out of my brain in a single sitting. :D<p>

To be honest, I had severe writer's block when devising what I wanted to write. MakoNeph is, at least to me, severely underappreciated, what with their apparent lack of interesting features. I guess what I'm trying to say is that MinaKunz has the whole bubbly happy vs. cold, astute tension, ReiJad has the who angry/fiery/passionate thing going on, and AmiZoi is kind of like shy and meek meets beautiful and flamboyant.

But I was most excited for MakoNeph. I see them as tomboy vs. player in my head. I had all of these ideas bouncing around in my head. Were they high school lovers? How would they first meet? Would he give her the time of day? I don't really have a concrete idea until it's out on proverbial paper.

So hopefully before the break ends I can churn out another chapter. And hopefully before I die I can finish this story. :\


End file.
